Mycroft's Friend
by StarDarknight
Summary: Mycroft Holmes has a mask that no one can see through. He wears it all the time, especially when he has the bullies after him. He knows that someday, he's going to have to teach his little brother how to wear the mask as well, because that's his job as a big brother.


He really needed to warn his brother about the other children at school. But being only thirteen and having an ego the size of the Pacific Ocean, he wasn't about to show them that he was upset. Shrugging things off was what he did best. It always had been. And ever since that little monstrous excuse of a sibling came into the world, he knew that he would have to extend that talent to him one day. He would teach Sherlock how to wear a mask, how to hold yourself at a higher level.

But for now, Mycroft Holmes wasn't as okay as everyone assumed he was.

Today had been no different than any other day; he came to school, hated the homework he received, met a group of boys behind the cafeteria, allowed them to punch, kick, and shout at him for being a "robot" and a "creeper", and then walked back to his spot in the locker room. It was always empty after school. However, today he sat back and really thought about how incredibly painful it all was. His parents were constantly occupied with Sherlock, which meant any attempt at seeking help from them would be seen as trying to get attention and therefore he wouldn't receive any. And though they were decent enough parents, he knew that he would be the one Sherlock looked up to, at least early on. The thought made him sick. Not that he hated his brother, far from it, but how was he supposed to help him when he could hardly help himself?

Mycroft's thoughts were broken when the locker room door creaked. He hadn't noticed until now, but he was CRYING. Of all the nonsense! And not only that, but now he was staring with tears streaming down his face at a random boy. Without realizing, Mycroft's brain whirled into action.

Athlete, rugby and swimming going by the thighs and shoulder size. Appears confident, but has small self-harm scars, years old then. Much happier now. Has two older sisters, afraid of father. Possibly bisexual, explains fear, father could be very religious. New student or visiting, doesn't know his way around. Doesn't know me. Why else would he be asking if I was okay and if I... wait a minute...

"What happened to you? You look awful! Are you hurt? Oh no, you are! Do you need help?"

"You... no... idea... hard it is!" Wait, the hell was he doing?! Was he complaining to this kid just because he seemed concerned for him? He needed to get a grip. But... the kid was still there...

"Oh, it'll get better," the stranger said, kneeling down so he was eye level with Mycroft.

"No it won't. It never does," Mycroft wailed.

"How often does this happen?"

"Every few days."

"You should see the teachers about-"

"They're idiots. I tried once, didn't help. And even if it did, they're just going to pick on my brother when he comes here soon!"

"Well, if you can't fix your problems, fix your brothers when they appear," the boy suggested. It was rare for Mycroft to not have anything to say, but he couldn't find a sentence. So he settled for "...Okay. I will."

"Great." Mycroft's new acquaintance shuffled to his feet. "Sorry, but I guess I'm lost. Do you know where I can find-"

"The nurse is three lefts and then two doors from here." Damn. There he went again.

"How'd you know I was looking for the nurse?"

"Not important."

"Please. Enlighten me. I wanna know."

Mycroft prepared himself for the loss of yet another potential friend.

"You have a small empty medication bottle in your hand. Doesn't take a genius."

"Oh. Okay. Well, thank you."

Wait, did that boy just say "THANK YOU"? Nobody EVER thanked him for what he noticed! He would've asked for the kids name, but he was gone as quickly as he'd come. Mycroft silently hoped their paths would cross again.

* * *

"Myc! Can you go get the morning paper for me?" Mummy asked. Mycroft didn't stir from his seat in the kitchen.

"Oh, alright. Get the paper, Mycroft?" This time he moved. It pestered him so much when his parents couldn't even bother to struggle to the end of the name THEY gave him.

As he walked out to the driveway, he saw the black and white bundle at the end of it. Once he was back in the kitchen, he finally took notice of the front page. He frowned. A young swimmer accidentally drowned during a competition. He looked to the picture to find something he thought he would never have to worry about.

The boy he saw in the locker room. The boy who comforted him when no one else could. The boy who steered him away from the idea of suicide, though he wouldn't ever say such a thing; it would upset Mummy to no end.

He was so lost in grief, he hardly noticed when his six-year-old brother yanked the paper away to stare at it with piercing eyes. Too piercing for his age, Mycroft mused.

"What's this, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked. He pointed at the picture.

"Nothing," Mycroft replied. He knew he was practically a god to Sherlock; he couldn't show that he was upset by anything.

"No it's not," his brother pressed. "You looked sad when you saw the picture, and if I read the headline correctly, the person in the picture died. You never look sad for just anybody; there was a murder of two women yesterday and you didn't care. That means you care about the person in-"

"SHUT UP, SHERL!" He lost his temper. He knew it was wrong, but this little chatterbox needed to be quiet and leave him alone, even if that meant making him frown. After a moment, Mycroft looked him in the eye.

"Yes, you're right. I do know the boy in the picture. He was nice. Most children at school aren't nice, but he... was." Mycroft could feel tears stinging his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said quietly. He really was. Mycroft could tell. Then his brother said something incredible.

"What if I found whoever did this to him? Would you be happy?"

Mycroft couldn't believe what he was hearing. All this time he had been thinking about how he would have to take care of his little sibling. He never thought about the fact that he would receive anything in return. His father told him that that's what big brothers do; which he had known because of his brother Rudy. But now Mycroft could tell that this wasn't the case with him and Sherlock. And no words could express how glad he was.

"Yes, brother dear. I would like that very much."


End file.
